


Forty-Two

by cathalin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-26
Updated: 2008-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/pseuds/cathalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe John has been paying more attention to Rodney than he's realized. Rodney does some thinking, and then tests a hypothesis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty-Two

For the second time today, Rodney is lying on the floor.

This time, instead of giving in to his fears, he’s – well, pretty much, he’s giving into his fears. Just different ones, because now? He’s going to be alone the rest of his life.

What he’d said earlier is true, because he’s _not_. Not ready, that is, “not ready” being the understatement of the year. Or decade. Or life.

But on the other hand, alone.

This time, it’s the floor of his quarters he’s lying on, and by now he’s memorized the faint lines in the ceiling, and his back has proceeded through ache, through pain, to almost numb, occasional spasms shooting fire down his legs.

He really should get up, take some painkillers, go to sleep, but something’s got him edgy, and his mind is refusing to let go of today. Oh sure, there’s the humiliation, freaking out like that. But there’s something else, something twanging on the corners of his brain, like a solution hanging just out of reach.

Rodney sighs and glances over at the clock, then levers himself up slowly, groaning a little. He’s not getting any younger; that much he had right early this morning, when he’d decided once and for all that the only possible solution to the unsolved equation of his life was Katie. His fuzzy adolescent dream that there was some perfect person for him, some human Ultimate Solution, was just that – fuzzy thinking. Something he hated, in any arena. But as it turned out, he needn’t have bothered with the pragmatism, because that hadn’t worked, either.

He’s brushing his teeth now, feeling the full loneliness of his years pressing down on his heart, refusing to look at his sagging face in the mirror, when part of the niggling thing at the edge of his brain solidifies, just for a microsecond, into a coherent thought. He inhales toothpaste and water on the thought, works through the implications to catch the error. Huh. Can’t find one. Yet.

Now that it’s right there in the open, he’s kind of amazed at his own lack of self-awareness, though really, that lack shouldn’t surprise him any more. Maybe the humiliating tug-pull of leaving Katie’s smile behind this evening, after he worked to bring the city back to itself, addled his brain. Because how long has it been, really, since he’s let his fear take over, let his own doors shut on hope? How long has it been since he’s been that guy, the guy who lay down on the plant lab floor, spiraling inward? He really hasn’t been that guy for a long time, so why today?

Somebody wanted Katie and him to fail. He leans heavily on the basin, sucking in a harsh breath of air because yeah, must have been him. And if he were the kind of person who believed in that kind of thing, he’d wonder whether Atlantis herself had a hand in it, because seriously, the guy with every allergy known to humankind locked in the _botany lab_? With klaxons signaling an outbreak of something deadly? With the object of his – his proposal? A better recipe for relationship disaster probably couldn’t be created, given his own - shortcomings.

So even though he wasn’t aware of it at the time , some part of himself must have been saying _no_ every time he tried to touch Katie, every time he tried to talk with her, and most especially every time he tried to get his proposal out.

He makes a face at himself in the fogged-up mirror, because why couldn’t he be one of those people who didn’t sabotage his own happiness? Why couldn’t he shut off the corner of his brain which insisted that settling wasn’t enough?

A little piece of toothpaste is clinging to the edge of the basin, and Rodney’s brain does that thing it does – springing from fact to fact, sorting data into organized sets - and he freezes, another new hypothesis – a corollary, really - jumping up and down for attention.

He contemplates all the data, sorts it with the new paradigm, checking for the inevitable misfit piece of information.

He cocks his head, unable to find one. His heart is beating a little fast, like it did in the plant lab, except not. Fast with little shots of excitement burbling into his veins, bits of electricity arcing randomly in his brain. The thought’s so absurd he tries to push it away, but it won’t stop, and really there isn’t any data which contradicts it, but still.

And then he remembers yet another piece of information, newly-learned today, in itself astonishing, but in light of his new hypothesis – frightening. In the good way, he thinks semi-hysterically, like the moment when you’re poised at the top of a roller coaster. Not that he goes on roller coasters, but – but anyway.

He’d asked Sam tonight how they’d gotten the beacon turned off, and she’d said, laughing, “Sheppard remembered your password.” Rodney had just stared at her for a minute, because, what? She’d laughed again, had thrown back over her shoulder, “He said something about your ego and the meaning of life.” So ohfuck, that meant Sheppard had remembered the numbers, but even more astounding, understood their significance. Really, it shouldn’t surprise him any more, that the dashing flyboy hero remembered the year Einstein was born, but still. And it means – it means, if nothing else, Sheppard was paying attention. Probably just to the numbers, but maybe – maybe to Rodney, too. It’s absurd, and impossible, but -

He clutches the edge of the basin a little tighter, because the only way to check his second hypothesis leaves him breathless with terror. It’s not worth the risk, he tells himself, but somehow he finds himself pulling on his pants, running a towel over his face. Maybe he’s hypoglycemic, because his hands are shaking a little. Though more likely it’s fear. Because the thing that has him almost running down the hall, zipping his pants as he goes, has his heart thumping out a stuttering rhythm – that thing is this: Atlantis has never cared what happened to Rodney. Oh, right, “cared” isn’t really the right word, because he’s not far around the bend enough to think the city’s really sentient, but – but there’s _something_.

When it comes right down to it, there’s one person that Atlantis has always responded to. And it’s not Rodney.

Earlier tonight, when Rodney had told Sheppard the engagement was off, John had grunted, had said, “Huh,” face expressionless, then said, “Uh, sorry,” and that had been that. Only now Rodney thought about it, he hadn’t sounded very sorry. He hadn’t sounded very anything. And when Sheppard doesn’t sound like things mean anything to him – that’s often when they actually do.

Rodney’s never gotten any indication from Sheppard that he’s interested in men, but then again, he doesn’t really seem interested in women, either, despite Rodney’s jokes. Women throw themselves at Sheppard, sure, but now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure he’s ever seen Sheppard respond to them in the way he thinks – imagines – Sheppard would respond to someone he wanted. He’s never seen him respond to a man either, though, in that way, but something – something in the way Sheppard slouches, black leather wrapped snug around one wrist, body just a little too graceful – makes Rodney wonder.

He’s feeling alternately hot and cold as he contemplates actually doing it, actually traveling the distance to John’s room, trying to talk around his question. His heart is pounding now, because he’s really going to do it, he’s really lost his mind, and -

The distance back to Sheppard’s door takes seconds to cover, and – wow – Atlantis apparently likes his tentative conclusions, or maybe the city’s more sensitive to Rodney than he thinks, because John’s door swooshes open for him before he’s gotten anywhere near the sensors.

Sheppard’s sitting on his bed, leaning over, head in his hands. He looks up as the door opens, and the look he turns at Rodney, just for a second – dark and deep, nothing Rodney’s ever seen before - roots him just inside the door.

“I – .” His own voice comes out hoarse, and oh shit, something rough and scared and strong has squeezed a hand around his heart.

John just looks at him, face now shuttered, expression bland. Rodney takes another step toward him.

“You said - .” Rodney stops. John’s not giving anything up in his expression. Rodney desperately doesn’t want to fuck this up, their friendship, the best thing he’s ever – . He swallows. “I have – I have an idea,” he blurts. “This morning. You said you thought I wasn’t ready, you said - .”

Though John’s saying nothing now, Rodney can practically hear him in his head - _breathe, Rodney, just breathe for a minute_. So he does, he breathes like Teyla’s taught him, feeling like an idiot, but maybe Sheppard doesn’t hold all the cards, because he’s fidgeting, just a little, as Rodney stands there.

Miraculously, a little calm seeps through him, and he’s really going to do it, he can feel it, he’s going to ask. “I think it’s possible – I think Atlantis. I think it - she - knew. Knew you thought I wasn’t ready.”

Whatever John thought Rodney was going to say, it wasn’t this, because his eyes widen, and Rodney hears his quick breath out, then in. “You been hitting the sauce a little hard, McKay?” Sheppard’s going for nonchalance, but Rodney knows him better than that – and that in and of itself is amazing, that he knows someone like John so well, that he knows _anyone_ so well.

“What I mean is that somehow Atlantis picked up on your – your feelings – and shut me in that lab with Katie, for all I know pumped stuff in there to make me feel sick like that, because god knows, I’ve been in way worse situations hundreds of times on the insane adventures that you take me on, and haven’t had a panic attack like that in forever, and - .” He cuts himself short. Babbling, he’s babbling and none of that’s the point, anyway.

“My feelings? What do my feelings have to do with it?” John’s come up off the bed now, eyes narrowed, heaping scorn into the word “feelings,” and Rodney can’t blame him, because, right – not a word they use, _ever_ , and now it’s been used – what?-three times in two sentences? Rodney’s gut churns, because what if he’s wrong, ohgod he doesn’t want to screw this up, and almost everything inside him is screaming run, run. Ominously, the door to Sheppard’s room belatedly whooshes shut, closing with a final-sounding hiss.

He tries to radiate calm, schools his voice to it, holds out his hands placatingly. “You were right, okay? Right, that I wasn’t ready. But maybe - .” Rodney squeezes his eyes shut. This is scarier than the Wraith, scarier than the Replicators, scarier than almost becoming Katie’s fiancé. Is he going to do it? He can feel it there, wanting to come out, and god he’s probably certifiable by now, but he almost swears he feels Atlantis herself give a little _push_ , because the words are coming, irrevocable, irretrievable. “Maybe you weren’t ready either. For me to do that.” But it comes out one long word, and squeaky.

He opens his eyes. At least Sheppard hasn’t hit him. Yet. John’s eyes are still narrowed, and his breathing is fast, a fact that’s obvious with the rapid rise and fall of his tee. _Black, tight-fitting, dog tags outlined underneath_ , Rodney’s brain yammers at him, and how the _fuck_ has he not noticed that internal voice, commenting all this time, he now realizes - for how long Rodney doesn’t know, maybe from the very beginning - on John’s body, his long lean lines, his fucking _thigh holster_ for god’s sake.

“Let me get this straight.” Sheppard’s advanced on him now, and Rodney swears he can feel the heat rising off John’s body, the barely held-in-check anger. The only questions are, anger at who? Or what? “You’re saying you think that Atlantis responded to feelings I supposedly had, feelings about you getting married?” John curls his lips a little on the word “feelings,” and who could blame him – it’s a word Rodney hates just as much as Sheppard does.

Rodney can’t breathe, can’t move, because yeah, when put like that, it did sound crazy. And like something a guy doesn’t say, ever, to his best friend. “I - .” And he stops, because he has no idea what to say.

Just when it seems inevitable that he’ll back down from the precipice, pull it back out with a joke, lighten it up so they’re back on their usual easy footing, the ventilation comes on, not softly, but with a purr, and some scent – something redolent of pine and earth and sweat, something somehow uniquely John - wafts into Rodney’s face. Holy fuck. Either he’s truly gone over the edge this time, or Atlantis really is pushing some agenda. Even Sheppard seems to notice it, because he looks over towards the ventilation grate just for a second, looking puzzled. The breeze ruffles his hair tufts slightly, and Rodney feels a tug, harsh, to his gut, and he realizes yeah, he wants to smooth that hair back, ruffle it with his own fingers.

Rodney takes a deep breath and forces more words out. “She loves you. Atlantis. Would do anything for you,” he says, voice twisting a little on the word “love,” and John’s eyes meet his for the first time since Rodney started talking, head snapping back toward him, surprise etched on his face.

“Come on, Rodney, that’s just – .”

But under John’s drawl, there’s something else there – something indefinable, but it gives Rodney just a thread of hope, so he adds, before he can over-think, talking right over Sheppard, “All of us would. Do.”

Sheppard huffs out air and bites his lip. He looks away.

Rodney hasn’t thought it through at all, but he’s suddenly full of confidence that he can say it, just right – just enough if his hypothesis is correct, just little enough that they can go on as buddies if not. He takes a step closer to Sheppard, putting himself just inside John’s personal space – a line he’s internalized without even being aware of it. “So I was thinking, maybe Atlantis knows we’re – you and I – are – are friends, and – and maybe she wants us to have more time. Together. Without me married.” Now he really is stumbling over the words, because, god.

And it’s a fucking minefield, because yeah, he’s already said too much, but also probably not enough. Sheppard has a look on his face – the one he uses when he wants out of a situation desperately. Rodney throws him a line, something he can grab onto if he wants to turn this back into their regular thing. “You know, computer golf, videos, cruising for alien princesses, time for that.” He winces even as the words leave his lips, because alien princesses? John’s never going to buy that one coming from Rodney.

And yeah, Sheppard’s eyes have narrowed again, and he’s stepped a little closer to Rodney. He can feel Sheppard’s breath on his face, see the laugh lines that his fingers are suddenly itching to trace. “You’ve never seemed real big on the alien princesses before, Rodney.”

“I - .” And it just hangs there, because Rodney’s got nothing. And the words are out before he can stop them. “I’ve got nothing.” He shrugs and tries a smile, but he can feel that it comes out sickly. “And you know that’s not something I say, like ever, because I never don’t have anything to say, because, you know, genius and all that, and - .”

Weirdly, his babbling seems to break Sheppard’s mood, because he cracks a smile, genuine this time, and his hand reaches up, heading toward Rodney’s shoulder. Rodney watches, terrified, because touching – that could be a problem and - .

“You’ve got plenty, Rodney.” Sheppard’s voice - _John’s_ voice, low and amused – fond, washes over him as his hand descends on his shoulder, squeezes once.

Then Sheppard seems to take it in all at once – his hand squeezing Rodney’s shoulder, them standing inches apart, the loaded topic of their conversation – and his face does that thing again where he needs to get away. He huffs out a little laugh, takes his hand off Rodney’s shoulder, steps back and away. “She just didn’t appreciate you enough.”

John means it, Rodney can tell, and another piece of evidence falls into place in the back recesses of his brain. Because, right, he _hasn’t_ been the kind of guy who’d lie on a greenhouse floor in a crisis for a long, long time, even if he ever was. And one of the main reasons for that is Sheppard, who somehow manages, through some strange and annoying combination of mockery and kindness to bring out the best in Rodney - even the heroic.

“Well, um, thank you,” Rodney manages, unsure what to do or say, but sure he can’t push any more without damaging their friendship irretrievably.

Sheppard’s apparently made his decision, or maybe Rodney’s hypothesis was wrong, because he grins – though Rodney swears it’s a little forced - says, “Hey, you can’t marry anyone yet anyway – wouldn’t be right to have anyone but the team bossing you around.”

Rodney agrees and smiles and pleads exhaustion and leaves, grateful that they’re still going to be friends, grateful Sheppard hasn’t freaked out at his crazy hypothesis. If John’s door seems a little slow to open to let him out, it must be his imagination. Something must have been wrong in the data set, or his logic, or his conclusions, but he doesn’t have the heart to examine it all again right now.

He stands inside his doorway, defeated. He’s middle aged, and today he lost not one, but- maybe, possibly - two, chances at going through it all with someone. He sinks on his bed, buries his face in his hands, just for a minute. He’s alone, like he’s always been, like he always will be, because face facts, he’s a screwed up, hypochondriac asshole who sure, people might hang around with some, but a _life_? Isn’t going to happen.

He can feel how close he came tonight to crossing a line with Sheppard – even now, he’s not positive he pulled it back from the abyss, made it possible for them to continue on as buddies, hetero and proud of it. The fear he feels at the idea of losing Sheppard, losing their easy friendship, their jokes and ribbing, curls hot in his stomach. He doesn’t want to think about it any more, doesn’t want to follow the implications of what he’s discovered today to any kind of conclusion.

Just a minute more and he’ll get up, pick up the latest problem on the power system; that’s something he’s good at, and he can lose himself in it, or at least try.

He’s psyching himself up for standing when the door whooshes open, and he can’t breathe for a minute, because it’s Sheppard.

Rodney just looks at him. Here it is, damnit. Sheppard’s going to want distance, make it clear they aren’t going to be spending much time together any more.

Sheppard surprises him, levering himself down on the bed a few feet from Rodney, still silent. He risks a glance over, and Sheppard is staring at his own hands, which are drumming on his knees. “Think I screwed up before,” he blurts, and it’s almost painful to watch him try to talk.

“Okay,” Rodney offers. “Join the club?”

Sheppard turns to him slowly, and god, Rodney’s suddenly breathless, looking at his dark, dark eyes and stubble and even now, the little tilt up on his upper lip that hints at the sarcasm always lurking.

“So, look.” Sheppard gets that look before he’s going to do something really really hard. “I suck at this. A lot.” He waves a hand in a circle in the air, indicating himself or Rodney or both of them or the room, or - . Right, he does suck at this.

Rodney lets a half-smile onto his face. “Tell me something I don’t know, Colonel. And hello? Me, here.”

“Right.” There it is, John’s usual drawl, so that’s better.

Or maybe it’s not, because he’s still looking pained. Rodney suddenly loses patience, at John, at himself, at the situation, at freaking Pegasus. It’s been a long day. “Spit it out, Sheppard.”

“Right.” Now John’s a little pissed too, so Rodney’s not surprised when he leans a little closer, looks Rodney right in the eye. Rodney struggles to hold eye contact. “So I think you’re maybe a little right – don’t even say it!” He waves his hand again, this time cutting Rodney off before he could get the words out, swallowed just in time, that of course he was right, genius talking. John swallows. “I think you were right that I - . It’s possible that I didn’t want – even though I do. Want you to be happy.” He stops, looks away, looks ready to fly away right then and there.

Rodney feels something twist in his chest. “You - .” He can’t think of what to say, ask, do. Is it possible Sheppard is saying what he thinks he is? Probably John’s just talking about their friendship, but even so -

The dam breaks, and suddenly he’s talking, words spilling out of him, because he sucks at this too, so hard, and he says so, says, “I suck at this, too, so bad, and the important thing is, not to lose – not to lose this – this friendship, because that’s more important than anything, and I’ll never forgive you if you ever make mention of the fact I said that ever, but I wondered, I thought, I realized, that is - .”

“Free hit,” John says, interrupting.

“What?” Because though usually Rodney can follow John-speak, his systems seem to be partially offline.

“I think we need a free hit, you know, like when you’re roughhousing when you’re a kid, your buddy can hit you and you can’t get mad.”

“Sure, yeah, but what - ?”

“So I’m thinking if I screw up right now, it’s my free hit, and we’ll forget it ever happened? Except then you can hit me and I won’t hit back.”

Rodney nods, but he still doesn’t get it, and is about to say so, when John leans, whoa, definitively into Rodney’s space, and then keeps coming closer. Before he’s even had a chance to process what’s happening, John is drawing back, but there’s a faint tingling on Rodney’s lips where John’s lips pressed, just for an instant.

Rodney stares at John, and then stares some more. At first he can’t identify the look on John’s face, brain sorting at lightning speed through his catalog of Sheppard looks even as he tries to figure out what just happened, and then – is it possible – fear? Not one he’s used to seeing, because Sheppard isn’t afraid of much, or doesn’t let it show if he is. Rodney can’t process what’s just happened, he doesn’t understand, it doesn’t make any sense, and then -

And then it does, because yeah, he was _right_. And that’s something he’s used to, something he can process, though being right has never felt like this before, like flying out of a wormhole, like exploring a galaxy, like the dawn over Atlantis. Well, except for the time he won the University prize in physics _and_ math in the same year when he was sixteen, but really, even that was in a different category, because –

“Rodney.” John’s voice brings him back from his spiraling thoughts, but not from the feeling coursing through his body, singing in his veins – a feeling like a door Rodney never knew was there has opened, letting light flood in, warm and brilliant, piercing him.

“I - .” His throat is closed, and his eyes are stinging a little. Fuck. Then something occurs to him, and he asks, throat hoarse, “So you do guys? Seriously?”

John’s face takes on its bad-boy insolent look, which Rodney takes as a yes. “So, gonna hit me?” Sheppard asks, nonchalance painted on his features, failing to hide the truth from Rodney, because yeah, he _knows_ John, and when he’s feeling the most is usually when he’s showing the least. He _does_ do guys. Maybe prefers guys, Rodney realizes, a thought that suddenly has him breathless with longing.

“Probably sometime,” Rodney murmurs, and John moves to get up, but Rodney shoots his hand out, and he can’t resist, not any longer, and cups the side of John’s face, runs his thumb softly over the full curve of John’s bottom lip.

And now Sheppard is frozen, staring at Rodney like a deer in headlights for a second, but Rodney, brave now like he is on missions these days, keeps his hand there, and then John closes his eyes, ohgod, and leans into Rodney’s hand, into the thumb softly stroking his lips.

So, right, even Rodney knows what that means, and as he leans in to kiss John, he realizes he hasn’t really been alone, or lonely, for quite a while. Not in most of the ways that matter.

For once, he’s not shaky, or embarrassed, or trying to make an impression when kissing someone, because Sheppard knows everything about him already anyway.

So he kisses him like he’s always wanted to kiss someone – not thinking about how his own lips are chapped, or what he should do next, or whether the guy’s cologne is hypoallergenic or whether they’re going to do it, or even about the latest physics problem he’s trying to solve, and most of all, not trying to be someone he’s not.

Instead, he kisses him like himself, soft at first, because god, this is _John_ , and he feels himself trembling a little at the gift being offered. And then, when it feels right, when John’s lips go from soft to a little harder, a little more demanding underneath him, when he feels the surge of longing rise up inside, he presses harder, moves closer, brings his hands to John’s shoulders, lets his tongue open John’s mouth underneath him, stroking into his mouth and pulling him closer all in one coordinated demanding move.

It’s never bothered John before when Rodney’s been bossy, and it doesn’t seem to be bothering him now, because he’s sinking back on the bed under Rodney, and the electric sparkles are pulsing in Rodney’s veins even harder, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He’s never, never – never felt anything like it, not with Katie, not with the girls before that, or the couple of guys back in grad school.

It’s scary as hell, feeling something this powerful, and god, what if John doesn’t feel the same, because how could he stand it if –

“Thinking too much,” John grates out underneath him, and whoa, John _underneath him_ , so yeah, definitely thinking too much. John is all muscle and coiled strength and heat, and his face – he looks wrecked, pupils blown dark and huge, lips swollen a little already, hair even messier than normal, and Rodney’s heart soars, because yeah, he did that, him, Rodney.

And suddenly he’s on fire, breathing hard, because oh god, John underneath him, black tee clinging to his chest – all that lithe strength just there, apparently his to use – well, not _use_ , but have, or maybe interact with is a better word, since really –

Rodney lands on his back on the bed, and wow, John’s just flipped him, maybe using one of those cool military maneuvers, but for some reason he’s laughing, apparently at Rodney, and then he says, “Rodney,” and Rodney gets it and mumbles, “Sorry,” but really he’s not, because if John underneath him was hot, then being underneath John is –

And then John is kissing him, tongue thrusting into his mouth, and Rodney lets his hands roam, because pretty clearly John’s not going to be offended, and John’s hard thigh muscles lead straight up to his ass. One of his hands stays there, feeling the taut muscle bunch and shift, and another goes up under John’s shirt, stroking up his back, feeling the corded strength under his hands.

He’s breathless and John is kissing the shit out of him, and his cock is so hard and John is incredible, and if this doesn’t stop, he’s going to come in his pants in about ten seconds, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing.

But John’s groaning now himself, grinding his hips down into Rodney, and Rodney rips his mouth away from John’s, says, “Fuck! I’m going to – if we don’t, Sheppard, I – I can’t –“ And John leans his mouth up to Rodney’s ear, bites the lobe a little, grunts into Rodney’s ear, “Sorry, can’t stop, I’m gonna – .” And that is so fucking hot Rodney’s poleaxed, electricity coursing from his ear to his cock, and he lets go, because really, there probably wasn’t a _right_ way to have your first sex with someone you apparently – apparently had _feelings_ for who was the military commander of your base in another _galaxy_.

So he lets go, shoves up into John, brings one hand to the back of his head, carding the surprisingly soft hair, pulling John’s mouth even harder to his own, lets his other hand press and stroke down John’s back and ass, then runs his thumb lightly down John’s crack through his pants, just to see what happens. John groans and stiffens, and Rodney really can’t breathe, he’s pulling Rodney to him so tight, grinding so hard, and that’s so hot, that Rodney did that, just that light brush over the top of his clothes and John’s coming apart on top of him, in his arms, shaking, every muscle tensed.

It’s all hot, everything, and Rodney’s body is seizing too, the heat spreading from his belly and his cock out to every limb. He can’t breathe, and he rips his mouth away from John’s. Sheppard groans again and buries his face in Rodney’s neck, which is just fine with Rodney because now he can pant into John’s neck, breathe, “Ohfuck” into his ear. John’s strong arms pull Rodney even tighter, his incredible legs are curled under and around Rodney’s, and Rodney pants, “Sheppard, fuck, _John_ ” into his neck and John groans, “Fuck!” right into Rodney’s ear and his whole body tightens and he comes, feeling John arch and spasm at the same time. He squeezes John just as hard as he’s squeezing him, momentarily blind, white light sparking behind his eyelids.

They’re both panting into each others’ necks like they’ve run from an enemy, smashed together in a way Rodney normally would consider uncomfortable, but right now it just feels – like something he’s never felt, something he has no words for. Wow, and that’s a first. “No words,” he pants against John’s neck, letting his tongue lick gently at the salt of his skin.

“Whu?” John rasps.

“I said, no words, because I can’t really talk after that,” Rodney pants. “Well, I mean, actually I can talk, of course, because I just did, but that was so good, so amazing, I couldn’t talk, I can’t talk, I can’t - .”

John hits him in the arm.

“Hey!” Rodney protests, still gasping for air. “You already got your free hit!”

Sheppard’s lips curl on Rodney’s neck. “Yeah, well, you forfeited your turn,” he growls, still breathless too, Rodney is gratified to note.

“How did I forfeit my turn?” Rodney squeaks, because he doesn’t remember any forfeiting.

“Yeah, well, I’d say asking someone to marry you pretty much forfeits your turn for the rest of the millennium,” John rumbles.

Rodney’s own mouth curls up, and next he knows, he’s grinning, then laughing out loud. This is fun, something he’s never associated with post-hot-sex before, not that he’s ever had sex this hot before, and he wants to keep it going. “Wait a minute. You didn’t say anything about turns. You said - .”

Sheppard raises up on his elbows, bracketing Rodney’s face. “What are you talking about, Rodney? There are always turns.” His face scrunches up with a fake concerned look. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe there really was a contagion, maybe it started in the plant lab first and you - .”

Rodney hits John’s bicep.

“Ow!” John protests, eyes dancing.

“Not sorry,” Rodney grins. Only then something funny happens – not _funny_ funny, but the other kind. Something flashes across John’s face when Rodney says “not sorry,” and Rodney wants to hit himself in the head because, right, blind idiot. “Hey,” he says. “Hey.”

And how has Rodney not realized that they already have the kind of – relationship – where they can read each other’s meaning from a monosyllabic word or a tilt of the head, because John flops back down on top of him and just lies there. Rodney is so, so bad at this stuff, but the good thing is, John’s not going to need flowers or poetry or dates or even words exactly, but for the first time ever with someone, Rodney _wants_ to talk about his feelings. Well, not talk about them really, but – oh, hell, he wants John to know how he feels.

So he lets his hand smooth John’s hair back, stroking softly, lets his mouth turn and kiss the top of his head, lets his lips form the words and whispers softly into John’s ear, “I _am_ sorry. About Katie. I’m an idiot. But you knew that.”

He feels John’s breath huff out on a smile, and then hears him mouth against Rodney’s collarbone, “I knew that.” Rodney lets his arms squeeze him in a real embrace for a minute, and then Sheppard rolls off him, pushes him on his side, spoons up behind him, pressing his lips to Rodney’s nape.

The lights dim and the air vent kicks on with a contented sound, and Rodney whispers, “Did you do that?”

Sheppard’s breath gusts warm on his neck. “I never kiss and tell, Rodney, you know that. Even with cities.”

“Good thing. Reason I trusted you with my password. Even though I thought you wouldn’t remember it.” Except that’s not really the reason he told it to John, is it? And yeah, there’s another piece of data that Rodney’s not interpreted correctly until now. It’s not the numbers themselves – it’s what they reveal about Rodney that makes it amazing he revealed it to the Colonel. Some part of him must have understood that he could trust himself with John – his whole egotistical, nerdy, dreaming self – because really, he’s known for a long time that Sheppard has hidden math depths.

John grunts his annoyed-with-Rodney grunt and Rodney smiles and lets his eyes close. Whatever the truth about the city, he knows this – he’s grateful to Atlantis. Because his life without the city – without what the city has brought into his life – would be unthinkable. He thinks dreamily, “Life, the universe, and – ,” and only realizes he’s murmured it out loud when John whispers into the back of Rodney’s neck, “And everything.” It’s soft enough he’s got deniability, but just loud enough for Rodney to hear.

Rodney’s heart twists a little in his chest, and he squeezes his hands around John’s, where they’re nestled strong around his body. He lets himself relax to Atlantis’s gentle humming, the soft sounds of the city at night, John’s breath gentle on his neck. Just for tonight, he’s not going to think about all the dangers facing both of them out here, or the dangers facing _them_ , trying to make a go of something when they’re both so hopeless at this stuff.

They’ve done pretty well so far, so that’s going to have to be enough. Because really, forty-two.

He falls asleep smiling.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> You can Google "42" if you want to. It's true... you really can Google _anything_ , including the secret of life, the universe and everything!


End file.
